Burn It To The Ground #2
Asani snaps the book shut as he looks out into the room with a firm glare.
“The war was never about order alone. It was about survival, and every single one of you is a descendant of the winners. There are nobles in this room, future titans of industry, and heirs to the ruling bodies that govern us. It is your legacy, and you are the product of centuries of calculated strategy to keep that dominance in place. This class will teach you how to wield your power by understanding how its structure was built, and how to defend it should our enemies come back into play.”
I feel the blood run cold in my arms. For all the posturing of the families, this is the first time I’ve heard someone official say what everyone already knows in their heart.
The Heathers look delighted because they live for this shit.
Pink is already taking notes, and Gold is smirking.
The new girl looks as if she wants to disappear.
It takes Felix’s cousin five minutes to outline the semester plan—weekly discussions, each led by a rotating pair of students who will present a case study of their own family’s role in the wars, the purges, and the peace that followed.
We are not to use the Prednet, only primary sources and witness accounts.
If an official story exists, you are to explain why it’s a lie, and who benefits from it.
If you refuse to discuss the truth, you fail.
“This is not a safe space,” he adds, and two canids in the front row snicker.
“If you want a safe space, take your trust fund and retire to an island somewhere to hide out like a coward. None of you were raised to be chickenshit losers, but your families deserve to know if you cannot honor the history of our various species and leaders.”
Looking at me for a moment, Asani moves from behind the podium to pace the front of the class.
“First up, the Barringtons, the Ericksons, and—” he looks at his list, “—the Drews. You three will present on the Bloodstone Reforms next week. You’ll meet after class, arrange your arguments, and come prepared to tear each other apart. Questions?”
Yes, I have a motherfucking question, you insufferable asshole.
But I don’t say that, and the following silence is eerie as the collective asses of the room tighten up.
The professor looks at the Heathers, then at me, and then goes back to his computer.
“If you’re not ready, you will be. If you’re scared, good.
If you think you’re better than this, you can test that theory in the real world, where failure is fatal.
” He lifts the book, drops it back on the table, and says, “Your future begins now.”
Every eye in the room is on him, but he doesn’t give us the satisfaction of a grand gesture or an icebreaker. Instead, he points to a wolf girl and says, “Read the next paragraph.”
She blinks and looks down at her tablet, clearing her throat before she says, “At the beginning of our quest for a new world, the rivers ran red with blood. By the end of the first month, some of the old cities were gone, replaced by camps, all run by the shifters who had the least mercy. The magicals who were captured were placed in these prison camps and the prey shifters drafted into service for the predators. Humans were also killed or shuffled, though that effort was kept secret and ultimately blamed on their own people in the eyes of history.”
I feel cold sweat at the base of my neck.
Gold is vibrating with anticipation, already imagining the rhetorical knives she’s going to plant in my back, I’m sure.
None of the other preds in the room seem very concerned with this stark unveiling of the authentic version of history, which lets me know that no one in here is ever going to be an ally.
I didn’t really believe they would, but I keep hoping to find more preds like my friends and family to grow our numbers in our small resistance effort.
This is going to be a semester from hell, no question about it.
Asani continues for the rest of the class, having people read aloud, and then we dissect what was read.
The time drags as I furiously scribble notes on every single thing each person says, and when the Khan finally stops talking, he closes his laptop, and says, “Next week, three of you stand here and tell me why your family deserves their seats. You’ll be judged not just by me, but by each other. See you then.”
I sit in my chair a minute longer than necessary, and then I pack my things, hoist my coat, and make a beeline for the exit.
As I reach the door, I look back just long enough to see the cousin watching me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
He might think he’s got me where he wants me, but that’s not true.
Everything he’s teaching, whether it’s his idea or the Society’s, is helping me form a better picture of what the Fae are angry about.
It doesn’t mean I agree with their methods insofar, but it will make rebelling against the Society, perhaps alongside them, an easier decision.
All this dickwaffle did was solidify my belief that none of the people in charge should be allowed to stay that way and the entire system has to go.